


Power Play

by verry (cherrybone)



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Knotting, M/M, Mating, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 19:10:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18482566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrybone/pseuds/verry
Summary: Erik has always been needy at the best of times.Unfortunately for T'Challa, outsmarting the young prince isn't quite as easy as he thought it would be.





	Power Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BabaTunji](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabaTunji/gifts).



> a lovely request for an absolutely wonderful person! thanks for getting me into this little fandom, and taking on this project was an honest to god DELIGHT!  
> sorry i went over the limit hehe not that you'll be too upset :9

T’Challa knows that Erik is going to grow up to be a wonderful alpha. He’s assertive, confident, and above all else, _loyal_.

T’Challa doesn’t think he’s ever known an alpha quite so caring and dedicated to his family. Sure, being protective was a classic alpha trait, expected really, but there was always something slightly different about Erik.

He’s fierce and defensive, more so than any other alpha T’Challa had ever grown up around. He can’t remember a time when Erik hadn’t been like that.

T’Challa wonders if maybe it had been the death of Erik’s father that had encouraged such behaviour. Losing a member of one’s family so young, especially the primary omega in one’s life had lasting impacts, even though Erik had been taken in immediately.

He’d imprinted on T’Challa almost the instant they met, and he himself had taken an immediate liking to his younger cousin. Erik was... he wasn’t broken the way everyone had told T’Challa he would be. He’d been expecting a fragile, angry child, still grieving over the loss of his caretaker.

But Erik, well, he’d proven himself to be more than capable of handling himself. With T’Challa’s guiding voice, and the idea that if Erik presented as expected, he would become T’Challa’s right hand, they’d gone through their formative years as close as brothers.

T’Challa doesn’t think he could have picked a better mate if he tried, and Erik seemed to be so perfectly gifted to him that T’Challa believes it must be divine providence

Despite their love, T’Challa does find himself wishing absently that maybe, just maybe, his ancestors could have given him someone just a touch more mature. Or, at least, one who wasn’t so impossibly clingy.

As it stands, he has who he has, and handling Erik’s needs has become something of a second nature to him at this point.

\--

“No.” Erik says, cheeks puffed out and arms crossed against his chest. He looks every bit the petulant child that T’Challa tries to convince himself he isn’t.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” T’Challa says, eyebrows raising as he rifles through his closest to find his ceremonial travel clothes. He’s not expecting to need them, but he doesn’t want to get caught unprepared if he and his father are invited to attend something a bit more cultural than just a meeting.

“I mean, you just got back, you can’t leave again,” Erik says, with all the finality of someone who thinks he makes the rules around here.

T’Challa tries not to laugh, pulling out a few heavy garments and turning back to the alpha perched shirtless on the edge of his bed.

“This is part of my duties, N’Jadaka,” T’Challa explains, Erik’s birth name the only one that will ever pass his lips. He respects Erik’s desire to use his given name amongst his peers, but T’Challa has rules to adhere to and tradition to uphold. As future king, he can’t be bending to every single one of Erik’s whims.

He lays the clothes at the edge of the bed and moves over to Erik. The teen pouts, but his hands uncross so he can reach for T’Challa, pulling him into the circle of his arms and pressing his face into T’Challa’s stomach.

“You’re not even King yet,” the younger complains, inhaling deeply and untangling his legs to swing them over the edge. T’Challa sees it for what it is, an attempt to get them as close as possible and maybe use a little of his alpha pheromones to soften T’Challa’s resolve.

It doesn’t, though the air does thicken a little with Erik’s projected scent. He’s still too young to have control enough over his scent to give T’Challa pause. Erik’s lessons are progressing well, yes, but he’d only just presented a little under a year ago, and it will take him many more to fully control himself.

“Yes, but this is a critical stage in my development,” T’Challa explains patiently. “You know that.”

Erik makes a face, as if to say that every stage is a critical stage and he’s getting sick of it. “Can’t your dad just. Leave you alone for once?”

“I am not the only one with responsibilities this week. I know for fact that you’re starting your new introductory rut classes in my absence.”

“Who _told_ you?” Erik’s cry is offended and loud, and it brings a genuine smile to T’Challa’s lips. He always likes getting one up on his mate.

“No one has to _tell_ me. I am future King. I know everything which pertains to the future of my country.”

“It was Ramonda, I know it was! That traitor!” Erik wails, nuzzling into T’Challa’s stomach before looking up at him imploringly. “Please? Can’t you stay? Just this once?” Erik pleads, a surprising note of sincerity lacing his voice.

T’Challa sighs, raising a hand to rest on Erik’s loc’s and stroking down his cheek with the other.

“You know I can’t.” And it’s not a lie. There really isn’t any reason T’Challa could give his father to beg off this trip, and he doesn’t want to. His learning is _important_ to him, and he’s long since grown out of that young hormonal stage that has him desperate to spend every waking minute around his cousin.

Perhaps it’d been a blessing after all that they weren’t matched in age. God knows what a terror they would have been had they presented around the same time.

It’s not that T’Challa doesn’t want Erik right back. He does, truly and with every fibre of his being. He wants him so badly most days that it creates a hollow, deep longing in his chest even though he knows Erik is his and always will be. 

He’s an omega, and while he’s practically full grown and at the very tail end of his development, he still has his own urges. He’s just better trained at dealing with them, and a whole lot better at considering the time and place for everything. 

Despite this, and despite knowing that if he wants to, he can tell Erik to back down firmly and be done with it, something in his cousin’s eyes hooks him. There’s a genuineness there, one that goes deeper than his raging libido and stubbornness. One that seems to imply a want that stretches further than just a fuck before T’Challa has to board the plane and leave. 

Erik looks... well, he looks genuinely upset. T’Challa isn’t sure if it’s upset over their time already spent apart, or the looming weeklong trip coming up, but there’s real emotion swimming in those puppy dog eyes that has T’Challa’s resolve first cracking, and then splintering. 

“How about this...” T’Challa starts, letting his leg press forward more firmly against the growing bulge in Erik’s pants. It’s just about knee level, and T’Challa takes a certain type of satisfaction in grinding it against Erik’s cock. “

“Only,” T’Challa adds, “If you don’t skip any of your lessons. Not _one_.”

Erik’s already nodding, and T’Challa thinks that if his cousin had a tail, it would be thumping back against the bed in a frenzy. 

“Yes! Yes, of course, anything!” Erik cries, the momentum of his enthusiasm carrying him forward to wrap himself completely around T’Challa and wrestle him down onto the bed. T’Challa lets himself be pulled, noting with no small measure of alarm that Erik is _definitely_ getting stronger. He’s growing all the while, and T’Challa spends so much time with him that he is oft the last person to notice. 

The thought of Erik grown fully, tall and broad and mature has a frisson of heat travelling down T’Challa’s spine, lighting the low level arousal into something far brighter than a simple spark. 

T’Challa thinks, maybe... maybe if he gives a little, just enough, that maybe it’ll be enough to get lull Erik into some sense of complacency and get him off T’Challa’s back. At least for a little – long enough for him to get out the door anyway.

“Please,” Erik says again, rubbing his clothed cock against the hard line of T’Challa’s and making a rough, low noise that has something hot and eager sparking in T’Challa’s gut.

He tries to tell himself this is all for the sake of ease and diplomacy. Just an easy way to tire Erik out and get him to listen for once in his stubborn life. But it’s hard to deny the heat he feels thrumming through him at the sight and smell of his alpha getting all worked up for him.

Because of him.

“We have to be _quick_ ,” T’Challa murmurs absently, letting Erik paw at his garments, almost tearing his shirt in his eagerness to pull it off. 

Erik doesn’t respond to this, but he does let T’Challa swat his hands away from his shirt and pull it over his own head. By the time T’Challa’s wiggled it off, Erik’s already squirming out of his bottoms, looking very much ready to jump him.

T’Challa holds up a hand, eyes trained on the thick, throbbing cock nestled amidst a thatch of dark, curly hair. It makes his mouth water just a little, and his brain is filled with flashes of the handful of other times they’d done this, still experimenting and pushing their boundaries on what they could do without taking things too far.

Erik sways towards him, and T’Challa pushes Erik back, watching his alpha sprawl neatly against the pillows and make a desperate face at him. T’Challa, knowing full well that the sight of his own nakedness always drives Erik a little crazy, makes quick work of his own pants.

T’Challa doesn’t waste time, he’s still got his departure on the back of his mind, and he knows that if he uses his mouth, Erik will finish significantly faster than he would if T’Challa just used his hands.

He slips in between Erik’s legs like he belongs there, all sinuous ease and comfort. That, at least, they’d always shared between them. The comfort, the familiarity.

T’Challa watches, mouth watering, as Erik’s cock twitches and rises to full hardness just by having him close. It’s heady and powerful, and T’Challa relishes in the level of control he has over his alpha.

He says nothing as he ducks his head, trailing his lips against the head of Erik’s cock and smearing the pearl of precum on his lips like the gloss some of the women in the court wear for special occasions.

The scent of him is overpowering here, and T’Challa feels a few of his senses take leave in a scattered haze. Erik smells absolutely intoxicating, and T’Challa can’t stop himself from burying his nose in the coarse hair and pulling in deeply through his nose.

Here, this concentrated, T’Challa’s much better at letting his senses take over and guide him. He tilts his head, lips parting to mouth at the base, sucking gently at the sensitive skin there. Erik makes a low noise, hand coming to rest on T’Challa’s head.

He doesn’t push, but his hips move weakly, tilting as if to ask for more. T’Challa licks his way back up, tongue teasing and curling around the girth of him before pausing to dip into Erik’s slit. His hips come off the bed this time, and T’Challa has to settle his hand low on Erik’s stomach to keep him still.

“It would do you well to learn some patience,” T’Challa says, sly smile on his face the only warning Erik gets as he’s swallowed all the way down to the hilt.

T’Challa lets his throat relax, lips curving over his teeth so he doesn’t nick his mate. Erik’s moans are music to his ears, and T’Challa feels his own cock grow to full size as he takes Erik in as deep as he can manage.

He doesn’t stop, pulling back just enough to take one deep breath before letting Erik sheath himself fully in his throat.

It’s easy to get lost in it, Erik groaning and thrusting weakly into his mouth, hips kept still by the hand T’Challa has resting on his hip.

T’Challa would be lying if he said Erik didn’t taste absolutely sinful, the flavor of his alpha one of the few things that can make T’Challa begin losing his mind.

“N’Jadaka, I want – ” And T’Challa doesn’t know how to phrase it, so unsued is he to asking for that which is body wants that he has no template for the words begging to be released from him. Erik doesn’t seem to mind, if anything, seems to know exactly what he’s asking for.

“Turn around,” he says, and there’s a steel in his voice that T’Challa barely ever gets to hear. The one that promises him a strong, capable alpha once Erik is done maturing. If he wasn’t already half crazed over his alpha, Erik’s tone would have tipped him over the edge.

T’Challa moves fluidly, positioning himself so that his face still hovers over Erik’s cock, but his backside is now perched perfectly in front of Erik’s face.

The position feels dirtier, somehow, a kind of lewdness that has T’Challa’s stomach clenching in anticipation. They’ve never done anything like this before. It’s always been one or the other, his dick in Erik’s mouth or vice versa.

T’Challa can’t believe they hadn’t thought to try something so mutually beneficial sooner. He’s just about to dig into the semantics when two broad hands grip his ass and pull him down, all thoughts scattering just as soon as they’d appeared.

He’s spread apart like butter, and T’Challa buries his face in Erik’s crotch with an unintelligible moan the moment his alpha’s lips come into contact with his skin. Erik doesn’t waste time, tongue out and lapping at the sensitive skin of his balls before sucking them entirely into his mouth.

T’Challa makes another noise, but remembers where he is when he feels Erik’s cock twitch against the side of his face. He opens his own mouth wide, laving down side of it and tracing a particularly thick vein that curls upwards.

His head goes a little fuzzy all over again, and it’s easy to let himself sink into the act of pleasing his partner. Compounded by the way Erik is working at him, hands massaging the meat of his ass as Erik’s tongue runs circles around his balls.

T’Challa’s hips work – asking without vocalizing, and barely a moment passes before Erik is taking him entirely into his mouth. He can’t go as deep as T’Challa can with him, but the feeling of Erik’s lips surrounding the tip of him is enough to drive T’Challa a little crazy.

The young prince tries to take him deeper, but Erik is still unused to such actions and T’Challa feels his throat constrict delightfully around the head of his cock as he gags.

If T’Challa were younger, he might have pushed his hips down harder anyway, but he’s a little older, a little more in control, and he lets his cock slide out of Erik’s throat until the young prince is at a comfortable depth again.

He seems entirely done with it though, and T’Challa is just about to voice a complaint about Erik being lazy even in bed, when he feels the first firm stroke of a tongue against his wet little hole. Erik’s tongue is broad and rough, and the sensation of it sweeping against his dripping hole is enough to make T’Challa’s complaints scatter like sand.

“ _Fuuuuuck_ ,” Erik murmurs from behind him, voice sounding half-drunk himself.

“Language,” T’Challa just has the presence of mind to say, before Erik attaches his mouth to him and _sucks_.

The pleasure is absolutely unreal. T’Challa wants to feel filthy – and he does, a part of him anyway – but the thought just makes him so much harder. Erik is lapping at him like he’s a parched man in a desert, coaxing the slick out and onto his tongue with deft little flicks that have T’Challa positively wailing against Erik’s cock.

It’s getting harder and harder to focus on his own task. Every time he remembers where he is and what he’s doing, Erik presses his tongue into him as far as it can go and all of T’Challa’s attempts end in him panting messily against the base of Erik’s dick.

He’s drooling a little, a thin stream of spit connecting him and his alpha as his hips begin rocking down against Erik’s tongue. T’Challa isn’t even aware of it, all he knows is that he wants to get more of it, wants that tongue deeper.

He mouths absently at the widest point of Erik’s cock, unable to do more than lick weakly at it while he works his hips down to the point that he must be smothering his mate. Erik doesn’t seem to care much just murmurs some slurred words that sound distantly like, “You taste _so_ good, Oma,” Before even that sentence is smothered into the meat of T’Challa’s ass.

It’s easy to lose track of time like this, Erik’s fingers digging hard into his cheeks as his tongue shows T’Challa a kind of bliss he didn’t think was possible. He’d heard very little rumors of the heights of pleasure an omega could reach. There weren’t many who were willing to gossip about such lewd things with the future king.

But maybe, if he’d heard something like this a little sooner, he wouldn’t have let Erik anywhere close to the most intimate part of him, too tenuous was his control as it stood.

T’Challa doesn’t know when he’d stopped his own sucking motions, but before he can start again, Erik is sliding out from under him. He wiggles up on the bed, T’Challa’s face dragging against his mate’s legs until Erik is completely behind him now.  

T’Challa would protest, but the tongue shoved halfway up his ass doesn’t stop thrusting, and he lets himself collapse onto his forearms on the bed, ass still raised in Erik’s grip. It’s almost unfair, really, how good this feels. T’Challa would have _never_ asked for such an act himself, but now, with Erik drinking his slick down like it’s ichor from the gods, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to ask Erik to stop.

But his alpha, always so good at reading him, doesn’t stop. Erik sits behind him now, wet, filthy noises echoing around them as he eats T’Challa out. The thought itself is so obscene that T’Challa feels another fresh gush of lubricant push out of him.

He can feel his own slick flowing, hole clenching eagerly around nothing as Erik sucks at him. He’s not expecting a finger to breach him, but when it does, T’Challa’s body doesn’t break stride, just sucks the intrusion right up to the last knuckle with a type of eagerness only omegas exude.

Erik’s tongue works around the digit, nipping gently as T’Challa rocks back into it, dutifully sliding another finger in alongside it. T’Challa feels a little desperate himself, now. He’s never had anything inside him before, but his body has instinct that his mind does not – craves things that T’Challa hasn’t let himself think about yet.

Erik seems to be running on the same set of instincts, scissoring his fingers experimentally and wiggling in a third when T’Challa’s noises are nothing but encouraging. A dim, ever shrinking and very responsible part of his brain keeps trying to say something, but it’s easy for T’Challa to tune it out. It’s easy when Erik’s giving him something he didn’t even know he needed until right now.

Erik’s fingers curve up, and then out of nowhere, sparks of pleasure are going off in what seems like every nerve ending of T’Challa’s body. He knows it must be his prostate, sex education had not fallen short in that regard, but T’Challa couldn’t have begun to imagine what stimulus like that would feel like.

He cries out Erik’s name, hips bucking and face collapsing into the mattress when his forearms are no longer able to support him.

Erik seems to notice his reaction – how could he miss it – because T’Challa’s barely murmured his name when his alpha is all but attacking that spot, pads of his fingers massaging the swollen gland and having T’Challa go cross eyed with the intensity of it.

“ _N’Jadaka, alpha_ , _please_.” And it’s not like T’Challa to beg often, if ever, but he’s never felt such an intense heat coursing through his body. He doesn’t consciously know what he is asking for, but Erik seems ready and willing to give it to him.

Erik keeps up his ministrations like it’s his job, and T’Challa feels the beginnings of an orgasm begin to build up in him. The heat coils low in his gut, swirling and cresting until his thighs are shaking and sweat is pooling in the hollow of his spine.

Just as he feels himself peaking, Erik suddenly stops, fingers going still inside of him. When Erik’s fingers slip out of him, T’Challa finds himself rocking backwards, seeking to be filled again. There’s shuffling behind him, Erik readjusting, and then T’Challa feels it, the blunt tip of his alpha’s cock nestled teasingly against the furrow of his opening.

Erik is speaking then, a babble that T’Challa just barely catches the end of. “Oma, I can’t –” Can’t hold back, can’t stop. T’Challa has a pretty idea of what’s going through Erik’s mind right now, considering the same thoughts are flowing through his own.

“Then don’t,” T’Challa finds himself saying, pressing his hips back and letting out a loud, keening noise as Erik’s head presses past that first, eager ring of muscle. T’Challa feels a little like fireworks are shooting up his spine from the point of contact, and every one of his reservations goes right out the window in his desire to get _more_.

His hole seems to suck Erik deeper without any conscious effort on T’Challa’s part, muscles tensing and relaxing and tensing again as his alpha slowly sinks himself in, slick and spit easing their way and leaving T’Challa almost floating on the feeling of having his alpha, his _mate_ , finally know a part of him that no one else has.

The moment of care can’t be maintained, and before T’Challa can even ask, Erik is sliding out and then slamming himself home, burying the full length of his cock all the way to the base. T’Challa almost _screams_ his pleasure, scrabbling frantically at the sheets as Erik picks up his pace, hips smacking loudly against the bare skin of T’Challa’s ass.

The older omega can barely think, thoughts cloudy with the sole need for Erik to fuck him, breed him until he can barely walk. Any semblance of reason is pushed out of him and replaced with Erik, and right now, T’Challa wouldn’t have it any other way.

The room fills with the rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin, the wet, noisy music of their coupling. T’Challa has never felt anything so mind-numbingly perfect. He’s never felt more complete, more perfect, and in his delirium he thinks that maybe Erik should be in him _always_ , if only so T’Challa never feels anything less than whole again.

Erik’s drives are steady and constant, and T’Challa’s weak attempts to meet him thrust for thrust are quickly put to rest as he simply presents himself and takes what he is given.

“Oma, Oma I’m going to – ”

“Inside, _inside_ ,” T’Challa begs, and if there wasn’t only the two of them in the room, he’d wonder if those words had really just come from him.

But they had, and he’s surprised by how much he suddenly _wants_ it. How much he wants to feel himself full of Erik’s come, filled and plugged with their potential children. Marked and owned. The very thought drives him mad, and Erik’s pace grows more erratic before finally, one thrust, then two, his alpha’s movements cease buried mid-way.

Erik stills as he comes, bent almost double with his chest plastered to T’Challa’s back. T’Challa feels the first hot bursts of cum directly against his sweet spot, and then Erik is slamming himself all the way up to the hilt as T’Challa begins to feel the first swelling of his cousin’s knot.

In a brief flash of clarity, T’Challa has just enough time to think, ‘ _oh, no_ ’ before the knot doubles in size and pushes firmly up against his prostate.

His own orgasm is knocked out of him with such force and surprise that T’Challa almost sobs with it, cry wrenching out of his throat as his own seed is spilled on the sheets below him.

Erik’s knot just keeps growing, T’Challa’s own abused hole fluttering around the too-big mass of alpha flesh plugging him up and making sure all of Erik’s cum stays exactly where it belongs. It rubs against his prostate as if with purpose, milking his own orgasm until his cock is spent and twitching, hanging limp between his legs as Erik’s hands dig into his sides.

Just when T’Challa thinks he can’t handle anymore, feels like there’s no way his body could stretch any wider to accommodate the alarming size now nestled inside of him, it stops.

Erik’s breathing raggedly by his ear, and all at once, T’Challa is unable to hold himself up. He collapses down onto the bed, taking Erik with him. His alpha, of more present mind than him, wraps his arms around T’Challa’s waist and deftly rolls them onto their sides before he can crush T’Challa under the full weight of him.

They breathe together for a moment, and then, at the same time, both of them start:

“’Challa –”

“N’Jadaka –”

There’s a beat, and then, surprising himself, T’Challa begins to laugh. There’s stunned silence from behind him, and then slowly, almost as if he’s not sure if he’s allowed, Erik begins to laugh as well.

Minutes pass like this, the two of them shaking and laughing, vibrations traveling all the way back down to the precise point in which they’re tied together.

T’Challa laughs until he’s gone silent with it, until Erik’s laughter has died off and T’Challa can hear the steady sound of his alpha’s breathing even out to something deeper, something indicating sleep.

He finally manages to calm himself, enough so that he can tilt his head back to see Erik, head resting on the covers and face even and free of his usual pout. He looks young like this, T’Challa reflects, young and peaceful.

He looks like a version of Erik that T’Challa hopes to see when they are older and ruling. When they have to watch over millions of people with only the guidance of themselves and their council to help them.

Shit.

Council.

 _Meeting_.

It rushes back in one big swoop. The trip with his father, their flight. T’Challa makes as if to get up, and then grunts, feeling the knot pull at his sensitive skin as if in reminder that neither of them are going anywhere anytime soon.

Oh my god.

He’d let Erik _knot_ him. He’d let Erik fuck him and then knot him and now he was stuck here until the swelling went down enough for them to slide free. That, or a servant came looking for him and joyfully went to tell his father just what was holding his normally so punctual son up.

He groans, face buried in his palms and wondering just what on _earth_ had come over him. They were supposed to wait! He had it all planned out, birthday dinner, gift and everything! Yet somehow, the contented little alpha currently curled up against his side, arm possessively thrown over T’Challa’s waist even in sleep, had managed to pop them like a flimsy little bubble.

He wonders, for a moment, if this is going to be their entire lives. T’Challa saying no and Erik finding a way to weasel under his defenses time and time again.

Then, he thinks, no, Erik isn’t like that. Erik loves and respects him. He’s stubborn, yes, and pushy, _bigger yes,_ but he’s also kind and thoughtful. He wouldn’t have done anything T’Challa truly didn’t want to do. And T’Challa knows, with utmost certainty, that if he’d sat up at any point and commanded Erik to stop, he would have.

But T’Challa hadn’t said no. Hadn’t even thought to. Hadn’t, from the moment he got Erik’s dick in his mouth to the moment Erik’s knot had swelled inside him for the very first time and sealed them together.

T’Challa feels a little like _he’s_ the one who’s fifteen all over again. Young and unbelievably horny over the slightest thing.

He’s an adult now, soon to be King! He knows better, _should_ have known better than to let the two of them tangle together in the sheets after a period of such long separation.

But he hadn’t, and now he was going to have to wait for Erik’s knot to go down until he could pull them apart. Oh god, he was going to be late on top of it all.

Facing his father and his counsel was bad enough, but hurrying down the halls, Erik’s cum still inside him, scent hanging all over him as all of their servants and attendees snickered good-naturedly into their hands.

T’Challa was going to _die_ of embarrassment.

‘ _Oh yes father_ ,’ he’d say, straightening his clothes and gesturing vaguely in the direction of his own quarters. ‘ _I was going to be on time, then I lost control of myself and ended up mating my alpha a year sooner than I’d planned. Oh yes, it was wonderful, I can still feel the dull ache of his knot where it stretched me beyond what I thought was physically possible. What? Pups? No, no, you know I’m on birth control. We’re not ready for anything like that quite so soon._ ’

He lets out another groan, and Erik shifts uneasily beside him, pulling at the knot still nestled firmly in T’Challa’s ass. The tugging sends sparks of delirious pleasure-pain up his spine, and if T’Challa were able to get hard again so soon, he’d surely be sporting another erection.

As it stands, the pulse of pleasure fades back into a blunt ache, the omega in him appeased at the thought of being full of Erik’s seed, their potential children.

Of course, the omega in him doesn’t really understand the concept of contraceptives, but T’Challa feels the warm, expectant feeling soothe the worst of his embarrassment regardless. There will come a time when he and Erik will be ready to start their own family, and T’Challa takes comfort in knowing that it will be his duty to rear Erik into the wonderful alpha and father he is destined to be.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find my request info in my pinned tweet on twitter @miriouu if you're interested hehe


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